The Witness

this—all out.” His hands glided up her sides, over her breasts, down. “Action and reaction, right? I like your reactions.”
    There were nerves, she admitted. They seemed to slither along her skin, under it, coil in her belly, squeeze around her heart to increase the beat. Everything inside her body felt soft, then sharp, loose then tangled. How could she keep up?
    “We should go upstairs.”
    She felt his lips curve against her throat, and his fingers trail up her back. “Why?” he murmured, and flicked open the catch of her bra. “I like your kitchen.” He shifted his feet, toeing off his shoes. “It’s warm. And efficient. I love the way you feel under my hands. Abigail.”
    She fell into the kiss, headfirst, a breathless tumble that left her dizzy and weak. Seduction. Though she’d never allowed herself to be seduced—it was unnecessary—her mind recognized the sensation. And her body surrendered to it.
    Craving the feel of his skin, his muscles, his bones, she shot her hands under his shirt, found the warm, the solid, the smooth. Her breath caught on a gasp when he hitched her up so she sat on her own kitchen counter. Before the shock of that had fully registered, his mouth closed over her breast.
    So hot, so wet, so strong, she let out a quick cry of stunned pleasure. Later she would think the orgasm that shot through her was as much a result of the shock as the sensation. But now it caught her unprepared, left her shuddering and defenseless.
    “Brooks.” She wanted to tell him to wait, to wait until she steadied herself, but his mouth was on hers again, taking her under so fast, so deep, she could only shudder and yield.
    She’d never been taken before, he realized. Not like this, where her surrender was complete, not when she couldn’t separate some small part of herself to reach for control.
    And God, he wanted to take her, to destroy that fascinating and innate control.
    He yanked down her zipper and, half lifting her, peeled the jeans away. Giving her no time to recover, he closed his mouth over hers again, swallowing her instinctive protest. He stroked her, teasing and gentle. She was already hot, already wet, already balanced on the edge. He wanted her to ride that, hold that sensation until it overwhelmed and overcame.
    He wanted to watch her as she did.
    The air, so thick and sweet, made her feel drunk with every breath. The pleasure he brought her was so complete, so absolute, she seemed trapped in it, mired and steeped. He caught her nipple between his teeth, bringing her to an exquisite point just bordering on pain while he stroked that heat higher.
    When she thought she couldn’t bear it, couldn’t contain it, everything went bright and free. She heard herself moan, the long, long throaty sound of it as her head dropped heavily on his shoulder.
    She wanted to twine around him, curl inside him, but he angled her back, wrapped her trembling legs around his waist. And drove into her.
    Fresh shock, fresh pleasure. Hard and fast and furious. A rising flood churning into the wild sweep of a tidal wave. He dragged her through it, drowned her in it, until that violent wave tossed her to the surface. She could only float there, wrecked, until he joined her.
    Now, gradually, she felt his heart hammering against hers, and the rags of his breath tearing at her ear. She felt the smooth surface of the counter under her, the dazzle of the kitchen lights against her closed lids.
    She needed a moment or two, just a moment or two to find her balance again, then she could—
    He shocked her again when he scooped her off the counter, into his arms.
    “You don’t have to—”
    “Hush,” he said yet again, and carried her upstairs to bed.
    S HE CAME DOWN FIRST IN THE MORNING and could only stop and stare. She’d left the lights on, a careless waste of energy. But she couldn’t seem to get too worked up about it. Clothes scattered the floor, hers and his.
    She studied the counter with a kind of baffled wonder. She’d never understood the appeal for sex in odd or unusual places. What was the point when a bed, even a couch would be more comfortable and conducive? Though she did enjoy sex in the shower on occasion.
    Obviously she’d been too narrow in her viewpoint, though she wondered how long it might take before she could perform basic kitchen duties with equanimity.
    For now, she started the coffee, then gathered up all the clothes, folded them neatly. By the time Brooks came